


Everything I Knew

by Liralen



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, M/M, Prostitution, Roommates, Tattoos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-30
Updated: 2011-12-30
Packaged: 2017-10-28 11:54:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/307619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liralen/pseuds/Liralen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jared moves 2,000 miles from home to go to college and "find himself"--and finds himself falling for his hot, quiet roommate, who might possibly be a hooker.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Everything I Knew

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Raeschae for the 2011 spn_j2_xmas fic exchange.
> 
> This is basically a love letter to my alma mater, a place of beautiful absurdity.

It's the last weekend before college starts, and Jared is a full tank of gas and nowhere to go, good intentions and bad options, restless and itching under his skin. He starts the night at a bar on the right side of town, shiny-new fake I.D. in hand, and jumps tracks before midnight; crawling need for violence or something just as dark souring his stomach as he glides his shitty Buick through the rougher grid of streets.

He doesn't mean to end up here, doesn't even know what he's looking for, but when a long-limbed silhouette catches his eye he finds the car has slowed without ever feeling his foot press the brake. The lights of the Boardwalk parking lot pick out the guy's profile in acid yellows and dirty greys: jean-clad legs rising to slim hips, t-shirt hugging a broad chest as close as the shadows. Sculpted jaw and nose, the dip and push of his brow, a bristle of dark hair. Adonis on a dirty sidewalk, falling to his knees.

The guy who's paying him doesn't even get out of his car, just pulls the driver's side up to the curb and opens the door.

Jared's breath is coming fast, sounding loud in the sweaty darkness, hunched down deep in the seat with the lights killed trying to look like just another parked car. He isn't close enough to make out more than the general impression of beauty, the symmetry of features; just close enough to catch the graceful curve of the guy's spine as he folds partway into the car, knees still on the pavement, half a magic trick. Close enough to see the guy's thin shirt ride up, revealing a snaking flash of black ink, but too far to make the dark smear come together into any meaningful shape.

Close enough to hear the rumble of a low, aching groan, but too far to know if it's one of pleasure or pain. A surge of pure want trembles through him, and he's ashamed to realize he's hard for it either way.

This is not who Jared is. He's not this kind of guy. Or at least he never was before, back home, with all his friends and family, with his decent grades and his sweet jump shot, where he knew exactly where he fit in. Over here, halfway across the country with the smell of the ocean and the salt of his own desire riding the air, he doesn't know who he is. Maybe he's someone entirely different. Maybe all it took was putting 2,000 miles between himself and everything he knew to make him into this—someone who jerks off quick and frantic in a parking lot to the sight of a stranger's tattooed back.

Jared comes sharp and fast; sags against the steering wheel; feels empty. Wipes up on a handful of fast-food napkins and drives back to the dorms, half a mile from the parking lot before he notices his headlights are still off. He gets back to his room and collapses on the narrow bed, wracked with the certainty that he won't sleep.

It's too quiet, up here on the hill high above the rest of town, campus still half-deserted with the span of remaining days. His roommate hasn't shown up yet, and he could really use the sound of another voice.

If this is who he really is, he's not sure he wants to know.

 

*

He falls asleep as thin grey light just begins to creep in, and wakes up with a stranger in his room.

"Hi," the stranger says as Jared flails blindly upright, just managing to swallow a scream. "Sorry, I was trying to be quiet."

Jared slits his eyes open to check the clock, curses, and silently contemplates killing his new roommate. Then he moves his bleary gaze over said roommate and decides maybe that can wait.

 _Ridiculously hot_ doesn't begin to describe the guy. He's like a picture from a magazine, with all the best lighting and airbrushing, only real and in Jared's room with a bulging cardboard box making the long muscles in his arms bunch and pull taut. He's got eyelashes like a girl and a thousand shades of gold in his hair, a mouth made to invite sin. He's got _freckles_. Jared might still be pretty drunk.

"You're kind of freaking me out," hot new roommate says, and _blushes_. Jared wants to lick the heated skin under the guy's eyes. Definitely still drunk.

"Yeah," Jared says, and then in a move of sheer brilliance rolls off the bed, grabs for the trash can, and throws up.

 

*

  
"Well, at least that'll make for an awesome story," Jared's new roommate—who he now, 25 minutes later, knows is named Jensen—says.

Jared groans, balancing the dining hall take-out boxes in his arms so he can unlock their door. In their very first meeting he got puke on Jensen's shoes. He couldn't make it up to him by buying him lunch, because they both have full meal plans, but he _had_ snagged the last hot cookie at the dining hall, so that was something.

"Yeah, uh, I don't know if I mentioned this before, but I'm sorry about that," Jared offers meekly.

"I think my favorite part was when you looked up, tried to introduce yourself, and then barfed in the middle of your name," Jensen goes on with cheerful malice, settling down on his bed with his food and fishing a curly fry out of the box.

Jared collapses on his own bed with a sigh. "Is there any possible way you won't tell that to everyone in the house?" he asks.

Jensen seems to think it over for a minute. "Not really," he decides with a quick grin. It lights his whole face, turns him from unspeakably perfect to easy and sexy, touchable. Jesus. "I think I'm going to just introduce you like that. 'This is my roommate Jared, who puked trying to say his own name.' Girls will love that."

Jared snorts lightly. "Don't really care what girls think, so much," he says casually around a mouthful of hash browns, trying to swallow past the sudden tightness in his throat. He'd planned to tell Jensen—any roommate he got—some way just like that. Just work it into conversation, _no big deal_ , but he can feel his heart ratchet up a few dozen beats in the brief space before Jensen looks at him.

"Really?" Jensen asks, eyes unreadable.

"Yeah," Jared says. He fights to leave it at that, not to justify or explain.

"Okay," Jensen says after a minute. His tone is neutral, hidden, and Jared almost asks if that's going to be a problem, because he'd rather know now when he can maybe get housing to switch his room. But before he gets a chance, Jensen says, "So what classes are you taking this quarter?" and Jared lets the moment slip away.

 

*

  
The first few weeks go by in a blur that Jared won't be able to remember later except in flashes: the chill bite of a cavernous 8 a.m. lecture hall; the brilliant red ponytail of the girl next door; the roar of the dining hall at noon on a Sunday, when everyone's recovered enough from the night before to crawl out of bed and muster up an appetite for the waffle bar. He sits in narrow folding seats and takes cramped notes on a legal pad, makes friends with the people in his hall and joins study groups, learns to play hacky sack and braves the forest in the dead of night with half his housemates to climb a tree so high that from the top branches he can see the moon reflecting off the ocean. And in between, he talks to Jensen.

Their schedules are almost perfectly misaligned; Jared's classes mostly fall on Monday-Wednesday-Friday, while Jensen has a long lab Tuesday afternoons and works Thursdays at the science library. It leaves them finding each other at odd hours, ditching morning lectures to grab breakfast and staying up late into the night to talk. It surprises Jared how easy it is to talk to Jensen, how much he enjoys it, though he doesn't know why it should. Jared's always made friends easily.

He thinks maybe it isn't the same for Jensen, the way the other boy falls quiet when they're in a group, the long hours he spends holed up in their room. He seems comfortable around Jared, though. It makes him absurdly pleased, feeding the stupid growing tendrils of a crush that curls warm in his belly whenever they're alone together.

"Why here?" Jensen asks him out of the blue one day. They're out on the lawn in the quad, stretched out like chalk outlines to soak in the sun. Jensen's wearing a thin white tank, sweat slipping down his exposed collarbone, sinking into the grass under his back. Jared keeps sneaking little glances from the corner of his eye, trying not to stare.

"It was the farthest school from home I got into," Jared says, more honest than he meant to be, distracted by the tickle of grass against Jensen's pale arms. When he wrenches his gaze up to meet Jensen's eyes, his roommate is grimacing.

"That bad?" he asks.

"No." Jared shakes his head, self-conscious, knowing how it sounds. "Not at all, we get along great, actually. I just needed… I needed a change, you know? I needed to be somewhere completely outside of everything I knew."

Jensen's quiet for so long that Jared thinks he's fallen asleep. The sunshine is drugging, lead in his limbs, and he's almost drifting himself when Jensen's soft voice rouses him.

"Yeah," the other boy says, "I get that."

There's an undercurrent of something in his voice that makes Jared's spine stiffen, makes the hair rise on his arms, though he can't quite put a name to it. Sadness, maybe, at least in part. More like wistfulness. Regret.

Jared doesn't ask why Jensen came here, what he'd wanted to leave behind. It feels too soon, too far to push. Instead, he lounges with Jensen in companionable silence, content to just be here with him, warm and quiet under the perfect sky.

Two skinny white guys with long, matted dreadlocks emerge from one of the houses smoking joints and dragging something that looks like a miniature totem pole behind them. They settle themselves on the hill a few body lengths below Jensen and Jared, the shorter of the two sucking earnestly at the jay while the other lets his burn low, concentration on the long, carved wooden horn he's settling between his thighs. He hands his joint off to the shorter boy, who sticks it in the corner of his mouth without missing a beat, and sets his lips against the mouth of the horn, trying a few experimental puffs on it before blowing out hard and sounding a long, moaning note like a dying whale.

The shorter boy sits up straight, mouth hanging open, and then yells out, " _Like a fucking elephant!_ " and falls over laughing. The taller boy grins, grabbing back the smoldering remains of his jay, takes a long hit and breathes it into the horn, making the same low tone and releasing tendrils of smoke.

"Dragon elephant!" he shouts triumphantly.

" _Dragonphant!_ " the short boy yells back, and they bump fists hard.

Jensen rustles beside him, and Jared tips his head to share a look with his roommate.

"Don't know about you, but that's pretty far outside anything I know," Jensen says dryly, and Jared throws his head back and laughs long and loud.

 

*

  
Jensen isn't shy, exactly. At least, Jared doesn't think of him like that. He's more…reserved. He's quiet in large groups, keeps more to himself and doesn't spend nearly as much time with their housemates as Jared does, but it isn't quite shyness. He's not socially awkward, either; he can make conversation easily at the dining hall or out in the quad, always has a comment to add, a question to ask, a friendly smile. It feels skin-deep, though. It doesn't come off as rude, or even insincere. More like there's a wall there, a careful distance between the person he presents and the real Jensen, waiting behind the lines.

The only time Jared doesn't feel it is when they're alone together, but he doesn't know what that means. He's afraid of getting it wrong, reading too much into it, and so he tries not to think about it. But still, it's there.

None of that, in Jared's mind, adds up to much of a raging social life, apart from all the time the two of them spend together; and so Jared's beyond surprised when, a month into the quarter, he comes home from his evening Lit 101 section to find a tie knotted around the door handle. Because it can't possibly mean what it seems to mean, even though they'd talked about it the first day, what their signal would be if one of them needed the room… _alone_. It can't be that. Jensen doesn't seem like the casual sex kind of guy, and if his roommate was dating anyone Jared would know about it, right?

Against the sick misgiving gnawing at the pit of his stomach, Jared gets his keys out and unlocks the door. He pushes it open just far enough to see the broad, tanned expanse of some guy's back and Jensen's horrified expression, a still frame that seems to stretch out forever. Then he's pulling the door shut, stuttering out a shocked apology, and running like hell.

 

*

The room still smells like sex when Jared slinks back home three hours later. At least his interruption doesn't seem to have killed the mood. He thinks he might throw up, thinks it might even be appropriate, his default response to Jensen surprising him.

It's hard to tell if Jensen's more embarrassed or pissed, mostly because Jared hasn't had the nerve to look at his face.

"I put the tie on the door handle," Jensen says, faint burr of accusation thickening his voice.

"So, you're gay," is _not_ what Jared means to say, but it's what comes out of his mouth.

There's a brief, charged silence, then Jensen says shortly, "I sleep with guys."

"I didn't know you were sleeping with anyone." He tries to keep it mildly curious, not hurt, but he's not sure he succeeds.

"I'm not sleeping with anyone right now," Jensen says.

Jared's head jerks up in surprise, startled enough to meet Jensen's eyes. "That was—you were just—" He gestures vaguely at the door.

Jensen's face flushes, just a little, freckles standing out sharper against the pink. "That wasn't… that was just a thing. Wasn't really anything."

"Okay," Jared says agrees hollowly, lost, because none of this makes sense. Jensen has never been so difficult to talk to, so impossible to read. The wall that holds everyone else at a safe distance is firmly between them right now, and Jared's helpless in the face of it, unable to find something to say or do that isn't completely stupid. "Okay," he says again. "Sorry. I, uh. I'll knock next time. Or just go away."

There's a soft, sharp noise of Jensen inhaling, almost like he's going to say something. Jared glances up, hopeful. Jensen pauses, licks his lips, and smiles tightly.

"Okay," he says, "thanks," and they turn out the lights and go to bed without another word.

 

*

  
Jared gets sexiled three more times from the room in the next two weeks. Only one of them happens on a night when he has class the next morning, and the room's empty when he checks back at nine, so he doesn't say anything. He has no idea who the guys are, if they even are all guys; he turns around as soon as he sees the tie on the door, hides out in the library studying and listening to his iPod for two hours before creeping back to the dorms. Whoever Jensen's brought back is always gone by the time he returns.

They don't talk about it. Things are always a little tense for the first hour or so when Jared gets back, Jensen clammed up and closed off and Jared feeling out conversations like the wrong word might make them both explode. It gets easier as they make small talk, the line of Jensen's shoulders falling into something easier, and by the next morning they're always back to normal.

Mostly normal. Jared guesses it probably wouldn't seem normal to Jensen that his roommate jerks off in the shower thinking about him—the soft shape of his mouth when he's asleep, the shifting muscles in shoulders when he stretches after a long study session. Jared also figures that those thoughts aren't going to go away any time soon, unless Jensen gets into some sort of random disfiguring accident, and what he doesn't know won't hurt him. It isn't like Jared's going to act on them and fuck everything up.

So. They don't talk about it. Doesn't mean Jared doesn't wonder. Doesn't mean he doesn't picture the guys—or girls—in Jensen's bed, moving under him, half turned on and half seared with jealousy. He tries prodding his housemates for information, asking if they've seen Jensen around campus with anyone, heard any gossip, but that backfires quickly.

"Jensen? Going out with someone?" asks Alejandra, the girl with the fire-red ponytail. She scrunches her brows up into a thoughtful knot as she munches on a tortilla chip. "Does Jensen have a sexual orientation? Does Jensen even talk to anyone except you?"

"Who's Jensen?" Ethan from the third floor asks.

Jared blinks hard. "My roommate? Jensen? He's gone to lunch with us like four times."

Ethan gives him a blank stare and cracks his gum. "I didn't know you had a roommate," he says finally, to Jared's complete disbelief. "Hey, you wanna play some hacky sack?"

 

*

  
In November Jared wakes up in darkness, and for a long moment doesn't know what woke him: if it's the soft hum of voices in the hall or the unnatural quiet in the room, too still for 2 a.m. without the steady rhythm of Jensen's breathing. The room's freezing—fucking cheap ass university, shutting off the heating at midnight when the temperature drops well below freezing up on the hill—and strangely hollow, too-large in that way that lets Jared know before he even looks at the other bed that he's alone.

He looks anyway, sees the covers on Jensen's bed shoved back, sheets still furrowed around the shape of his body like he just got up. Jared sits up, sharpening his attention on the voices outside the door, straining to pick up words.

"…supposed to be here," a voice says, so low and shredded by the distance that Jared almost doesn't recognize it as Jensen's. "You can't just show up like this."

"I couldn't sleep," another, deeper voice says, a little louder, the words clear. "C'mon, let me in."

"My roommate's asleep in there," Jensen bites back sharply.

"So I'll be real quiet," mystery guy says, his tone edged with amusement. "Come on. I'll make it worth your while."

Jared can't pick out what either of them says after that, just a quick exchange of murmurs and rustling; then Jensen's saying, "…your ass if he wakes up," and unlocking the door.

"Nah, baby, it's always gonna be _your_ ass," Jared hears faintly over the sound of his heart pounding as he dives back under the covers, trying to twist himself into a position where he'll look asleep but be able to sneak a glance at Jensen's bed.

"Shut the fuck up," Jensen hisses back thinly, easing the door shut and moving almost soundlessly deeper into the room. If Jared was actually asleep it might be quiet enough not to wake him. Mystery guy, for all his talk at the door, is just as quiet, breathing light and easy in the darkness as the soft clink of a belt opening fills the room.

There's a shift in the darkness, more feeling than sound. Jared couldn't explain how he knows it, but he senses someone moving closer to him, a change in the air pressure. It makes his hackles rise; he'd put any amount of money on it that it isn't Jensen. His suspicion is confirmed when Jensen whispers, just a faint edge to his voice, "What are you doing?"

"This your roommate?" the guy asks, which almost makes Jared give away his cover with a snort, because who the fuck else would be sleeping in Jensen's dorm room? "He's cute."

"You're going to wake him up," Jensen whispers, more desperate now.

"Nah. He's sound asleep." The guy's voice is oily, amused. "Kinda've a shame. We could all have some fun together. You fuck him yet?"

Jared concentrates everything he is on keeping the slow, regular breathing pattern he's been faking, but Jensen's breath hitches like he's as surprised as Jared by the question.

"Come on," Jensen says, voice unsteady. He takes a breath, moving closer to the guy, and his tone is more controlled this time. "Come over here with me. Don't you want what you came for?"

If the mystery guy answers that, Jared can't hear it. They retreat to Jensen's side of the room with more rustling, followed by the whisper of skin on skin and then soft, wet sounds. Jared takes a risk and slits his eyes open, seeing nothing but charcoal outlines as his eyes adjust to the dim light from the lamp outside filtering through the curtain.

When he can see again, it takes him a few moments to recognize what he's looking at. The angles are strange, hunched curve of Jensen's back nearly blocking the other guy from view. Jensen's on his knees, bent over the bed, and the position makes something low in Jared's gut twist at the same time it pings something in his memory. There's a huge hand cupping the back of Jensen's head, knotted in the soft bristles of hair, guiding the rhythm and the slick sounds of his mouth working the guy's dick. The guy's making stifled moans and grunts, little hungry noises that make Jared want to hit something until his knuckles bleed, but he forces his mind away from that. There's something—a blurry flash of memory, he can't quite—

"Yeah, shit, like that," the guy gasps, tugging Jensen's head down harder, faster, deepening the bend until the points of his spine push out against his shirt, soft dips and shadows in the yellow light. Jared follows the line of his spine down to where his t-shirt has rucked up, baring the tender small of his back above the edge of his boxers. The space in between is soft-looking and pale, except where it's criss-crossed by delicate lines of black ink, a spiraling pattern that curls up over Jensen's hipbones before disappearing back into the waist of his jeans.

All the breath leaves Jared's chest at the same time the guy comes, a low, whimpering moan cut off by the solid slap of Jensen's hand over the guy's mouth. Jared barely remembers to slam his eyes shut and hold still as the guy zips up and leaves. Jensen follows him out, across the hall to the bathroom, and Jared strains to hear the distant sounds of the shower running.

He considers running. There's no way Jensen will buy that he was asleep that whole time. But he'd have to come back eventually, and then what would he say? Would he tell Jensen about that night in the parking lot, how Jared had spied on him like some sick pervert, how he'd gotten off on it? Would he tell Jensen how beautiful he'd been—how beautiful he is—how much Jared wants him?

And what does Jared expect to gain from saying any of that? At best, Jensen will laugh in his face. At worst, he'll move out, too uncomfortable to live with a guy who's carrying a torch for him. Or—what if he offered to sleep with Jared for money? Jared's fairly sure his heart wouldn't survive that kind of break.

He feels like he'll never sleep, burned by the new knowledge of who and what Jensen is, the lingering sounds and images of what he'd done just a few feet away. But all that worrying is exhausting, and after 30 or 40 minutes of solid freaking out Jared feels sleep start to pull him down. Distantly, in the background, the shower continues to run.

 

*

  
In the end, Jared doesn't say anything. Jensen is fast asleep when Jared gets up for class the next morning, gone to work when he gets home. They don't see each other again until late that night, when they catch a shuttle across campus for late-night dinner. Jared's expecting the distance Jensen usually puts up after one of his flings— _one of his jobs_ , Jared thinks now—but it isn't there. Jensen's a little quiet, a little tired, but it's genuine; there's no chill in his tone, no attempt to erect a barricade to keep Jared out. He acts as if nothing at all has changed, and Jared's so relieved that he lets him. He tells himself it's better for both of them to just let it lie.

 

*

  
They both spend Thanksgiving break in the dorms, restless spirits in a ghost town, the clack of silverware against plastic unnaturally loud in the empty dining halls. Jensen doesn't bring anyone back to the room that whole week, spending most of his time huddled in bed with a pile of textbooks, and even though it's the first Thanksgiving Jared's ever spent apart from his family, and he and Jensen spend it in front of the TV watching _Wild Boyz_ and eating Easy-Mac, it's one of the best he can remember.

The week following break is quiet, too; there are finals to cram for, study sessions to join, term papers to finish (or, in the case of his Political Freedom class, _start_ ). They're in full combat mode, eating standing up with a book in the other hand, searching JStor for citations late into the night or crashing at nine p.m. after a day full of classes. It's an exhausting way to live, but in a way, it's kind of exciting, too. This is the college experience Jared always imagined—writing papers, living in the library, complaining about finals with friends over the dining hall's version of Szechuan beef (which, according to whose theory you believe, is actually either squirrel or tofu). The fact that he gets to live this with Jensen just makes it that much sweeter.

Of course it has to end.

 

*

  
It's only 10:30 when someone knocks on the door, but Jared and Jensen are both already knocked out, run ragged by the first wave of finals. Jared only has final exams in two of his classes, but the Political Freedoms paper he's been putting off all month counts for a third of his grade, and he'd gone to bed early planning to get up around dawn and work on it all day. People knocking on his door during his precious few hours of sleep really don't work with that plan.

He tries ignoring it, but just as he's started to doze off the knock comes again. Jensen snuffles softly and scrunches his face up, but stays asleep. Any other time, Jared would find it unbearably adorable. It's still pretty adorable, but not enough for him to let the other boy sleep.

"Jensen," he calls softly. No response. "Jensen. Jen. Wake up. Someone's at the door." Jensen lets out a soft 'hmmph' but doesn't stir. The person at the door knocks again, louder, and Jared hisses, "Jen. Jen. Jensen. Wake up! Jen!"

"The hell--!" Jensen yelps, sitting bolt upright. His hair is all over the place and his eyes are swollen and red with sleep. He's still so beautiful Jared could cry.

"There's someone at the door," Jared says, trying to sound at least a little contrite.

Jensen groans. "And your legs are broken?" he gripes, but he's already pulling on sweat pants and moving to the door.

"Mmph," Jared agrees, snuggling down into the covers and already starting to drift again. There's the quiet snick of the door opening, and Jensen makes a sound, or the bitten-off beginning of a sound, before Jared hears the door close again. Jensen must go out into the hallway to talk to whoever is there, because for a few minutes he can only hear the faintest hum of hushed voices.

Then Jensen's voice rings out, clear and distinct, jolting Jared wide awake: "You can't be here. You need to leave."

Whatever the other person says in response is soft enough that Jared can't catch it, but Jensen doesn't bother lowering his voice.

"You need to leave," he repeats.

"…worth your while," Jared catches, and his stomach goes cold at the familiar words. There's a rattle and scrape of the door handle, and the stranger's voice again, saying, "Come on, don't be like that."

"Let me go," Jensen hisses.

"Shh. Settle down. You don't want to wake up your roommate, do you? He doesn't need to see this."

"Let me _go_ ," Jensen demands, more pissed than scared, but Jared doesn't even have time to register that before he's on his feet and across the room, pulling the door open so fast that Jensen stumbles and almost falls against him.

"Too late," Jared says, calmer than he feels, "roommate's awake. Now let go of him."

The guy holding onto Jensen's wrist drops it in surprise, staring up at him. He's older—a _lot_ older—and oddly familiar, although Jared can't quite place him. If he's on campus in the middle of the night, it's a good bet he's either personnel or faculty. Either way, getting caught this late at night in student housing is a world of potential trouble, and they both know it.

"Unless I need to call campus security," Jared continues evenly.

The man pulls thin lips back from his teeth in a parody of a smile. "Not just a cute puppy, he has _teeth_ , too." He turns the fake smile on Jensen. "Fine. We'll continue this later."

"No, you won't," Jared says firmly, taking a step closer and unconsciously straightening, making himself bigger. Putting himself between the guy and Jensen, who still hasn't said a word. "You come back here again and I'll file a complaint with the school for sexual harassment. Stalking. Drunken disorder around students." The guy stinks of liquor, which at least explains why he's being so reckless and loud. "And if you think I'll have trouble finding evidence, just think about how many people live on this floor. It's eleven o'clock. You think no one else can hear you out here, professor?"

It's a total guess, but the guy twitches enough that Jared knows he's hit close. He turns on his heel and opens the door without sparing the guy another glance, pushing Jensen ahead of him.

"Come on, Jen. Time for bed."

Back in the safety of the room, Jared is shaking. He holds his hands out in front of him and watches the fine trembles, fascinated, then makes fists and shakes them out. His heart feels like it's skipping, thumping hard on every third beat, filling his head with adrenaline and white noise.

"You didn't have to do that."

Jensen's watching him from near the doorway, still exactly where Jared put him. He doesn't look scared or upset. He doesn't look any way at all; he's got his game face on, the one Jared hates, the one he can't read.

"I know," Jared says. He keeps squeezing his hands into fists and relaxing them, trying to work out a little of the nervous energy that's built up inside. He wants to hit something, hit it until it bleeds, until he feels things break under his fists. It's ridiculous. He's never been in a fight in his life, honestly never wanted one until right now.

"I know you didn't need me to, or anything," Jared says, needing to fill the silence. "I mean, I'm sure you can take care of yourself. Just, you said no, and he wasn't listening. Even if… even if you're…" Jared swallows. "You still get to say no."

Jensen tips his head to the side, gaze dissecting Jared in a way that makes him feel raw and exposed.

"So you know what that was about," Jensen says. It isn't a question, but Jared nods anyway.

"Yeah," he rasps, throat dry. "I've—I've known for awhile." The way Jensen's looking at him—he doesn't understand it, but it burns him.

"I figured," Jensen says. He licks his lips, slow and deliberate, and Jared's gaze falls helplessly to his mouth, tracking the movement. Jensen seems closer, suddenly, but Jared isn't sure which one of them has moved. He's close enough that Jared can reach out and brush his fingertips over the curve of Jensen's cheek.

Jensen turns into the touch, kissing his palm, and Jared shivers. He wants to freeze this moment and lock it up, keep it forever. Then Jensen's slipping through his hands, sliding to the floor between his knees, and it takes Jared's brain entirely too long to figure out what's going on.

"Jensen, why are you—what are you doing?" he stutters.

Jensen looks up. He's flushed and sweat-slick, hair mussed and sticking to his forehead. His mouth is rubbed raw and bruised, the way it looks in Jared's sickest fantasies.

"Giving you what you want," he says, bending his head to mouth at Jared's cock through his boxers.

"No!" Jared jerks back, stunned and stung, and meets Jensen's startled gaze. "No, that's not—is that what you think this is? That I want—that you have to—Jesus Jensen, no."

"Then what?" Jensen snaps, clearly frustrated, pushing a rough hand through his hair. He's shaking a little. "What do you want, Jared? What do you want from me? Do you want me to move out? I can go to the provost, ask him if there are any empty rooms, if you just promise not to—"

"I love you!" Jared yells, cutting off Jensen's increasingly anxious babbling. Jensen blinks at him, shocked. Jared's shocked himself. He didn't know he was going to say that.

He doesn't want to take it back, though. It's true. He might not have really acknowledged it until the moment it came out of his mouth, but it's true. He loves Jensen.

"You…" Jensen shakes his head like he's shaking off water, blinks at Jared. "I'm sorry, what?"

"I love you," Jared repeats, a little miserably. "I know that's probably the last thing you want to hear, and I'm sorry, but it's true. I don't want you to blow me because you think you need to buy my silence. I'm not going to tell anyone. I want you to… I mean, I don't—I want—"

"What?" Jensen asks when Jared falters. His voice is soft, calm, but his gaze is weirdly intense, hitting Jared low in his stomach. "What do you want?"

"I want…I want you," Jared says lamely. He runs a hand over his mouth, trying to hide the tremble, and forces himself not to drop Jensen's stare. "I want to watch stupid stuff on TV with you, and stay up late talking about my family and Texas, and skip morning classes to go to the cantina downtown. I want to hang out at the beach and laugh at you when you burn because you never put on sunscreen, even though you know it's gonna happen. I want to walk around the track with you when you can't sleep, and watch the deer graze on the soccer field, and hear stories about how your sister made you watch Bambi like 50 times and you always cried. I want to come back to our room and tell you all about my day, and I want to hear all about yours. I just… I want to be around you. All the time, man."

Jensen's silent for a long minute. Jared doesn't feel like he breathes at all.

"We already do all of those things," Jensen says at last. It's hard to tell, but Jared thinks the twitch at the corner of his mouth might be the beginning of a smile.

"I know," Jared breathes out, relieved and embarrassed in equal measure. "But I, uh. I want to do them naked sometimes."

"I don't think they let you into the cantina naked," Jensen tells him, but he's smiling for real now, pulling Jared close again, and it's like every light in the world has come on at once, the way Jensen's smile shines on him.

"Shut up," Jared mumbles as he presses a slow, tentative kiss to Jensen's mouth.

"And we'd probably traumatize the deer," Jensen continues.

"Shut _up_ ," Jared laughs, wrapping his arms around Jensen and kissing him hard, warm and sure.

"This isn't my life," Jensen says, softer, hidden against the curve of Jared's neck. "I mean, this isn't how it was supposed to be. It just—stuff happened, a lot of stuff at once, and suddenly it looked like I wasn't going to be able to come here, even with grants. And then I hooked up with this guy one night and he offered to pay me—"

"I don't need to know," Jared says, voice rough. He catches Jensen's flinch and softens, nudging his face up for a gentle kiss. "I don't mean it like that. Just—you don't have to explain to me. You don't owe me anything."

"I just don't want you to think that's who I am," Jensen confesses. "That this is who I want to be. This was never a long-term plan."

"Jen," Jared says softly, cupping Jensen's face in both hands and making the other boy look at him. Jensen's eyes are bright, but dry. "I know who you are. Okay? I know you. None of that other stuff matters. Do you believe me?" Slowly, Jensen nods. "Do you think I could kiss you now?" Laughing a little, Jensen nods again.

The kiss, when it comes, feels like a real first kiss. Jared keeps it slow and sweet at first, taking a long time learning the warmth and give of Jensen's lips before carefully parting them with his tongue to lick inside. He can't stay slow after that, the slick heat of Jensen's mouth intoxicating, maddening. Jensen's meeting him with equal intensity; biting at his lips, sucking them full and red, pulling him closer and tangling him up until their hips are pressed tight and they're panting into each other's mouths.

"Don't have to," Jared pants as he feels Jensen's hand move to his boxers. He'd like to be looking him in the eyes and not writhing against his fingers when he says it, but he isn't that strong a person.

"Want to," Jensen assures him, kissing a messy path along his jaw to bite at his ear. "Unless you don't want—"

"Wanted to for _months_ ," Jared groans, grabbing Jensen around the waist and tumbling him onto the nearest bed. It happens to be Jared's, and he feels warmth bloom in his chest at the thought that he'll be able to smell Jensen on his sheets tomorrow. "I just don't—don't want you to think that you, oh god, that you have to—"

"Jared," Jensen says, grabbing one of Jared's hands and guiding it down into his sweat pants, "I _want_ to. Okay? I really, really want to."

Touching Jensen's bare cock, feeling the soft, slick glide of it under his fingers, flips some primal switch in Jared's brain. In an instant he's dragging Jensen's sweats down, squirming and kicking out of his own boxers so that they can press skin-to-skin. It's the most amazing thing he's ever felt. He wants to push himself through Jensen, fuse with his cells, become a part of him. He realizes distantly that it's an intensely creepy thought, but forgives himself because there's about a teaspoon of blood left in his brain and he's seconds away from coming so hard he's pretty sure it'll kill him.

"It's okay," Jensen's murmuring, kissing his face and petting his hair as his other hand works swiftly between them. They've had this talk: Jensen knows Jared's never done anything like this before. "It's okay, just let go. You're so beautiful, Jared, look so good. Come on, come for me, baby."

And Jared does: comes like falling off the side of a building, everything rushing at him faster and faster until he crashes through. He hears his own startled, breathy gasp, Jensen's deeper groan as he follows, spilling hot and wet over his hand and against his belly. He wants to see it, wants to watch Jensen shake apart, but his vision is still fractured and fuzzy, just enough energy left in him to press his mouth to Jensen's in a clumsy kiss. He feels boneless and exhausted and _sore_ and really, amazingly happy.

"I love you too, by the way," Jensen mumbles against his chest as they lay there drifting in the aftermath. "I'm not sure if I said that before, but yeah. Definitely pretty in love with you."

"Mm," Jared hums. "S'good. Thanks." He yawns, curling his arms a little tighter around Jensen, just because he can, and murmurs in his hair.

"Hey, Jen?"

"Hm?"

"Let's come up with a better long-term plan."

He doesn't realize he's holding his breath until he feels Jensen's mouth curve against his skin in a faint smile.

"Yeah," Jensen answers, "definitely."

They lay silent again for a long stretch of minutes, breaths slowing and evening out, and then—

"But seriously, the deer would get over it."

He falls asleep to the sound of Jensen's laughter.


End file.
